Battle of Evermore
by ImpalaLove
Summary: (Repost).SPOILERS for all of season 9. Dean's POV. "People are dying. People are always dying, but this time is different."


**Apparently the song lyrics contained in the original version of this story violate the content guidelines on this site, so I've taken them out and reposted. Oops. **

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Battle of Evermore

I'm pacing like I want to dig out a hole that stretches all the way to the center of the Earth. I don't want that though. If I do that, I'll fall right through, and that means I won't have a chance to save the man lying in the bed, face so pale and limbs so still. I suppose that if all else fails, that could be my final option. If I can't save Sam, then I'll just dig a hole right to the core of the Earth and I'll fall down it and I'll burn away into nothing. Because if Sam dies, then there's nothing left. If Sam Winchester dies, then I die too.

There's a solution here, standing in this very room. There is an angel staring at me from across the bed where Sam lays, and he is waiting for permission to save my little brother's life. But I know what Sam would say right now if he could open his eyes and open his mouth. I know because this angel, this Ezekiel, has shown me. And Sam would say "Let me go, Dean."

And I will not accept this.

So I say 'yes' when I know Sam would say 'no' and I feel guilty and a little terrified at what this means, now that Sam has an angel living inside of him.

But then Sam wakes up and Sam talks and Sam is _alive_ and I can deal with whatever else will come.

_ooOO0OOoo_

Many things come, just as they always have. We are swallowed by the job and there is too much to do, too many things to kill. Demons and ghosts and monsters of all kinds roam this world, and now we have to add fallen angels to the list. It's an upward battle and we are swinging blind, not really sure what we're up against quite yet. And then, on top of all of it, there's the incessant knock against my skull, the brutal beat that starts to play in my head like a rock song I've already memorized and grown tired of. It never stops. It's never quiet and it sounds like:

_Ezekiel. Ezekiel. Ezekiel. Badum. Badum. Badum._

There are some secrets that look and feel like melted wax, spilling over flaming candles when they're not supposed to. The wax burns on the way down, makes a mark on whatever surface it lands on; and then it dries and it cannot come unglued. That is what this secret is like. It molds itself to the underbelly of every conversation and it dries out along the edges of my lips every time I think of speaking it aloud.

Sooner or later, I know it will come to the light.

_ooOO0OOoo_

People are dying. People are always dying, but this time is different. Abaddon uses the shells of the dead to do her dirty work, and every human life trapped inside all of that black smoke is my fault. I am the one who stopped my little brother from boarding up Hell. I am the reason these monsters still exist, and every throat I have to slash is just another life to add to the growing pile of destruction I have wrought with my selfishness.

I want to convince myself that I would take it all back if I were given another chance, but I know that's not true. Because I know that even now, even with all this innocent blood on my hands, I would choose the same path. I would save Sam.

I will always save Sam.

_ooOO0OOoo_

He remains clueless. He assumes his role as hunter and little brother as he always has, not questioning his miraculous recovery so much as embracing it. I'm glad for it, for the life I see in him once more, but his obliviousness also means I have to face the truth all on my own. And it gives me a lot of time to question my decision, to wonder if Ezekiel's claims ring true or if I've damned us all.

And then people start dying, and I think Zeke might be my savior as much as Sam's.

Cas is first, a quick scream and an angel blade through the heart, though any weapon would've worked seeing as he was human. I run to him, but it's too late for even a goodbye. I am only given a moment to mourn though, because in the next, Zeke has risen from the ground and brought life back to my friend's bright, blue eyes.

I lose Charlie not long after, quick and clean just like Cas. She's pale and cold and _gone_ in seconds, yet once again, Zeke manages to bring her right back to life. It doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem possible. I don't know what I would've done without him there, am positive that I would not have survived losses like those. It scares me how fragile things have become, how easy it is to have more people ripped away from me, no matter what I do. And even when they come back like that, it just seems like a dream, like they'll drop dead again at any moment. The world is glass and I am afraid to move an inch in any direction, lest I slip and slide and let everything shatter.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock; won't be long before time runs itself off this clock.

_ooOO0OOoo_

It's hard to go back to Sonny's, because it's hard to remember who I was back then. I hadn't meant for it to happen, but I got comfortable in those two months that Dad left me at that Boy's Home. I fell into a normal I'd never known before; got stuck up on what to wear for a date and how to strike the right chord on a guitar- things I'd never dreamed of having the time to understand. There was too much evil out there to be wasting time living the way that I finally let myself live, but for once, I didn't let that bother me. Because I had found something, something I hadn't had since I was four years old. And it felt good, to hold onto that innocence for a little while. Until Dad came back for me and I realized that innocence wasn't in the cards for me if I wanted Sam to hold onto his. So I left.

There is still innocence left in the world, and it resides in the eyes of a small boy named Timmy. He is younger and more pure than I have ever been, yet still he has seen more than most men ever will in their lifetime. I wish I could've saved him from that, just like I wish I could've saved Sam from ever having to know about what lurks in shadows and haunts a home like ours.

Still, Sam is strong and he carries the weight of it, and despite his size, Timmy does too. He finds a strength that no young boy should ever have to search for, a strength born of hard circumstance and having no other choice but to let someone go. Let his own mother go.

In that way, Timmy is stronger than I will ever be.

_ooOO0OOoo_

The world is doused in smoke and fire and I cannot see through the haze it creates. I don't think the pyre is big enough or built well enough, but I probably didn't even have the time to make one in the first place. I should be searching for the angel who did this, the one who still walks in my little brother's body. But right now I cannot see.

Kevin was the very best that we had left. Young and smart and full of hope for what would come after. He still believed in an after.

And now he's dead and I'm finding things to throw because this hurts too much and I can't take the weight of it even though I know every ounce of it falls on me. Lost. I've lost them both in one day and I can't seem to pick myself back up off the floor.

_ooOO0OOoo_

There are needles in my brother's brain which means there are unwarranted tears in my eyes that I've been trying to hold back since the second he started screaming like that. I know it's not him, but it _sounds_ like him and that's enough, so pretty soon I've have to walk away.

And then my deepest fears are confirmed. Because Crowley digs around inside my brother's head and finds that Zeke isn't Zeke at all. I've been played and it cost Kevin's life and almost Sam's too. Except Sam is brought back with a flash of brilliant white that means an angel's been expelled and a swirl of red smoke that means the King of Hell has been inside his muddled mind and it's the only reason my brother is alive and kicking now. And if I take the time to think about it, it's all just a little too insane.

Crowley doesn't cut it as the hero in my book, but I realize that's probably because I always figured it would be me who would save my brother. Oh how the roles have shifted. Oh how useless and ruined I have become.

I cannot see redemption inside these shattered walls of all my bleeding bits, so I think the only thing left now is to clear Sam's air of all the venom I've expelled around him. I wonder how he survived this long, covered in the stink of my rotting contamination. I wonder why I let myself stay when I knew I was just making it harder for him to breathe.

So I leave. And the rain falls like it's trying to clean out the cancer inside of me.

_ooOO0OOoo_

I don't remember when I slept last, and I don't remember the last time that seemed to matter. Crowley corners me and tells me about his plan to find a weapon that will smite a Knight of Hell, and I think maybe some sleep would've helped me make a better decision as to whether or not I should help him. The correct response would've started with an 'N' and ended in 'O.' But I'm dreary-eyed and interested in the possibility of Abaddon's demise despite the fact that this new 'hero' Crowley sufficiently creeps me out.

And then we meet Cain.

I've read the Bible from an educational standpoint more than a religious one, but I know the story well. Most people do, seeing as Cain and Abel are among the first in that long list of stories, a tale printed onto countless pieces of parchment and apparently, clean-pressed into my very blood. Lucky me. I suppose since Cain is technically my long lost relative, this could be considered the family reunion neither of us wanted. That would explain the gift-giving in the form of Cain's very own Mark. I don't exactly know what that means aside from the fact that it can help me kill Abaddon. And beyond that, I'm not really sure I care.

If Sam were here, he'd know better. Sam always reads warning labels.

_ooOO0OOoo_

We're working together again. We always come back together somehow, like a moth to a flame. That's the expression right? Seems like a fitting simile seeing as we're always hellbent on destroying each other. And right now, it seems it's my turn to be the destroyed.

Sam's words are forged in steel these days, and every time he opens his mouth to speak, they slice me apart like the meticulous strokes of a surgeon's scalpel. It's the longest surgery I've ever experienced, and also one of the messiest. Every time I think he's done, he'll take another swipe at some vital arteries.

_No I can't trust you. _

_No I wouldn't save you. _

_No we're not brothers._

I tell myself I just have to keep going. Walk with shoulders pushed back and long strides that speak of endings and 'I've done this before.' A version of this has certainly happened before, maybe many times, but I cannot remember it ever feeling the way it does now. Like I'm already dead.

Like all that's left is to bring someone down with me.

At least this Mark on my arm means I have a chance to do just that.

_ooOO0OOoo_

I don't feel warmth anymore. It's not like I'm cold either though. It's hard to explain. I know what it feels like to be human. I understand the rough friction of my own palms and the slimy taste of my tongue as it forms the words that push the world away from me. I still know what all of that means. But now, it's like the light has slowly drained itself away. There's just this one thing now, this one goal that drives me. It's all I can think about, and it's hard to really _feel_ anything else. It's a strange limbo between savagery and humanity, and I walk the line like the tightrope that it is, hands outstretched in both directions, trying to keep my balance.

Abaddon's blood calls to me like a siren's song, and I answer it regardless of the jagged rocks that rest along the shore and attempt to block my way. I run at them headlong, and I hope for the best. It is why I am here now, smashed against a wall in this hotel room with my Blade on the floor and my chest constricting. She is laughing as though she has won already, but she cannot possibly know what I do. She would never think that someone like me could bring about her end. But I know. I know that it is all I am meant to do anymore.

So I am the one laughing now, as I take away her victory. She screams and I cannot get enough of the sound. Her body breaks and I cannot get enough of the feeling, so I do not stop until her blood has drowned me and my brother yells and I realize what I've done. She's almost unrecognizable, body tarnished like it was a hellhound that got her, instead of the end of my Blade. I thought this was what I wanted, and yes, there is triumph in her death, but suddenly the blood is making me sick, the stench of it already embedding itself into the folds of my fingers and the wrinkles of my jacket.

I do not think I can ever be clean again.

_ooOO0OOoo_

My brother is here.

There are other details too. If I care enough to search, I can see and feel and know these other things. For instance, I can feel the dull ache of a cracked jaw. I can feel the sharper, tighter pain that comes with smashed fingers. And I can feel the gaping hole in the middle of my chest because my heart beats right beside it. The blood squeezes right out from my pumping heart and onto the ground, and I am pretty sure that is not how it's supposed to happen. But it's okay because my brother is here.

Everything has been so dark for so long now. I think I lost myself. I think I forgot what it meant to live for anything other than blood, and now that I am lying here surrounded by it, I wonder how it is possible that I forgot about the most important thing. He's staring at me and he's telling me to hold on, telling me he's going to get me help. I know I am beyond it, and that's fine with me. This Mark on my arm has changed me, and I don't want to stick around to see what else it can do. I tell him this, and still he hauls me up, walks me away from all that blood and holds me with the only arms that have ever been able to fully encompass me.

I smile because I know it's almost over, but I make Sam stop walking because I still have one last thing to say. There is so much I want him to know, but this one thing will be enough. I think about it for a second, run through all the horrors we've seen and all the terrors we've overcome; a montage slathered in blood and brotherhood. And I want him to hear me right now, to carry this with him until I see him again, in this life or the next. God, I hope it's the next. I hope I can still make it to the place I know he'll go to when his time is up. So I smile and I tell him:

"I'm proud of us."

And the light flickers on like a long lost beacon, just in time to be lost inside the backs of my eyes. And I finally get to close them. I finally get to lay my weapons down.

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**Hopefully this all still flows okay/makes sense without the lyrics in between paragraphs. Such a bummer, but if you're curious, you can always just look up the lyrics to Battle of Evermore by Led Zeppelin. =)**


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